What's Past Is Past
by Tehri
Summary: Alfred sees a portrait of Arthur as a pirate while they clean the attic. Why does Arthur get upset over seeing it? Why are so many emotions tied to a single portrait?


**Author's Note: *admits* Yeah, this was sort of inspired by all the works on deviantArt that depicted Pirate England... xD Then again, I can blame myself for searching for them.**

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_The captain on the beaten ship cursed under his breath as he was forced to kneel down on the deck; he stared down at the wood beneath him, begging himself not to let his courage wane. How could this have happened? One moment, everything had been calm, and a British ship, seemingly a merchant ship, had been approaching. They hadn't realised just how dangerously close the other ship was getting until the flags were switched out all of a sudden. And now, there he was, captured by a band of filthy pirates. He bit his lip._

"_Well done, lads", said the man who was supposedly the First Mate. "Looks like ye caught th' big fish this time around! 'ow about we see what he can tell us, eh?"_

"_You filthy dogs", he yelled angrily. "I would never in my life tell you anything, you swine!"_

_A boot connected with the small of his back, and then a loud laughter rang in his ears. But not from the crew, but from a single man who approached from the helm. He looked up slowly, his gaze locked with that of a pair of emerald eyes; eyes that almost seemed to be aflame._

"_Ye talk like a noble, lad", the man grinned. "'ow 'bout ye drop that fancy talk, and use real insults, eh?"_

_He stared. The owner of these emerald eyes was not very tall; not much taller than five and a half foot, surely. Short sandy blonde bangs covered his forehead, he had fairly large eyebrows, and on his head rested a hat made out of leather with several large feathers, flowing in the wind like a mane. He wore a long red coat with black and golden cuffs, and his leather boots were well worn. The cold smirk on his face told the world that he would most likely laugh at any challenge thrown at him. This was, as it seemed, the captain of the attackers._

"_Well, ye be a pretty boy." The blonde man laughed again as he crouched down and grabbed the captive's chin, forcing him to keep looking at him. "Tha's amusing. A handsome lad, but ye've got no skills in a real fight from what I could tell. Let me guess. Ye've merely 'ad lessons, but ye've never been involved in a real fight before, eh?"_

_The captured man's blue eyes kept staring into those deep emerald pools that kept mockingly staring back at him._

"_Who are you...?"_

_The captain grinned and stood once more, only to perform a mocking gesture where he took off his feathered hat and swung it in front of his knees as he sank down into a deep bow. As if that would be meant sincerely..._

"_Where are my manners", he chuckled. "I be the captain of the _Siren_, and that be all ye need to know right now. It is certainly a pleasure for me to have ye 'ere on me humble ship, good sir." His eyes twinkled with amusement. "Y'see, that means ye won't be trying anything while I let me lads take care of your precious cargo and get rid of your vessel."_

_The man started, but the pirate laughed and kicked him back down._

"_Be grateful", he said, raising his voice so that all of his men could hear. "After all, ye're not to be sent t' Davy Jones' Locker wit' yer crew! After all, gunpowder is a fairly dangerous thing, don't ye agree?"_

_The pirates laughed, and two of them dragged the poor man to his feet. He stared at the captain, fury evident in every feature. The men that had remained on the other ship returned, with wide grins on their faces._

"_We'll need t'move, Captain", said one of them. "She's going to blow."_

_The captain nodded, and they began to move. A sufficient distance was put between the two ships. And soon came the sound of a loud explosion, something the poor man had hoped he would not have to hear in his lifetime._

_He had been kept in the brig for days, and he was not certain about what they would do with him. The only thing he had gotten to know was that the captain apparently did not wish to see him walk the plank. But finally, he was brought up from the brig and forced to stand in front of the captain and his crew._

"_I'm not certain 'bout what I should do wit' ye, lad", said the captain quietly. "Naturally, the first advice from Jack 'ere was t' make ye walk th' plank." He gestured to the First Mate who grinned at the captive. "But knowing 'im, and how he loves a good joke, I decided not t' take 'im seriously."_

_The captain's emerald eyes almost bored a hole right through him as they suddenly seemed to glare daggers at him._

"_So tell me", he said, his voice suddenly holding the booming sound of thunder. "What should I do with ye? Since I be a generous man compared t' most scum ye'd meet on th' ocean, I shall allow ye to choose yer own fate." He grinned, a malicious glint in his eyes. "Choose, laddie. Come with us, and serve under me. Or, kiss the gunner's daughter."_

_The man gulped; he had seen too many forced to "kiss the gunner's daughter", meeting their death at the bottom of the ocean with a cannon ball tied to their feet. It was not a fate he wished for. He had nowhere to go now that his ship was gone, and these pirates could do whatever they wanted... But he did not want to die._

"_So choose", the captain growled suddenly. "I don't be feeling too patient t'day."_

_For a moment, blue eyes stared down. But then, they slowly lifted and gazed at the pirates._

"_What course should we set, captain", he then said._

_And the captain laughed._

"_Ye'll see, lad", he said. "For now, I believe it be enough if ye know that ye are now a crewmember on the _Siren_, and that ye serve under Captain Arthur Kirkland."_

_

* * *

_

Alfred had, naturally, been to Arthur's house several times before, so he knew his way around in there pretty well. He also knew that there were certain rooms he was not allowed to enter, and that both the attic and the basement were filled with junk. Or that was what he called it; whenever he said that in the Englishman's presence, he got smacked on the back of his head and reprimanded for it. It was not "junk". It was nostalgia, several centuries' worth of memories. Or more. In fact, Alfred had never bothered to ask his old caretaker about his age (he didn't feel like getting his head smashed in). But then again, he was not all too certain about if he wanted to know at all...

Arthur was, at the moment, fairly busy. He was in the attic, apparently trying to figure out if there was something he should throw out, and Alfred was curiously looking at all the different boxes and cloth-covered things the older nation had brought down.

"How old are these things anyway", he asked and glanced towards the narrow stairway where Arthur had disappeared a few minutes earlier. "The more I look at these things, the more I'm surprised that they haven't fallen apart..."

A snort alerted him to the other man's presence. Arthur glared slightly at the young American as he came down the stair, carrying yet another box.

"Some of them are fairly old", he muttered. "But I don't have the oldest things left, at least not up there."

He put down the box and rummaged through it for a moment; Alfred could practically see the memories wash over the man like a tidal wave, but considering that there was no sad look in his eyes, it was at least no bad memories...

The American opened one of the other boxes and peered curiously at the items inside. He frowned a little bit as his eye caught a glimpse of gold, and he grasped for it. There in his hand rested a chalice of purest gold, with a large ruby on one side. True, it might need to be polished a little bit, but it was nonetheless a very beautiful thing. Suddenly, Arthur's hand came into view and snatched the chalice away.

"Will you stop that, you git", he growled. "You know that I don't want you to touch everything!"

Absent-mindedly, he caressed the chalice with one hand before grabbing the cloth it had been wrapped up in and covering it again. He pointedly ignored Alfred's childish whine, since he knew that it mostly meant "But I'm _bored_, and you just stopped me from doing something I wanted to do". Honestly, one could not do _anything_ when that man was visiting without having him follow you around and just waiting for a chance to do something stupid. So maybe he _had_ picked a bad day for cleaning up in the attic after all... He went back up the stair again with a low sigh, hoping that the boy's nosy nature would keep him by the boxes for a while. Everyone had their secrets, and Arthur could have filled at least eighteen books (with a very small font) with his. Some of the "secrets" were known to the world, and some were still hidden. Certain portraits hidden on his attic were among the still hidden ones, and those were the ones he was going to carry downstairs now; hopefully, Alfred wouldn't see them... But after carrying down three different portraits, he found the biggest and the heaviest of the lot. Length-wise, it was almost as big as him. After making a few attempts to carry it and dropping it on his foot, he began a long rant of incoherent curses.

"Arthur, are you okay up there?" Alfred came up the stairs, frowning at the curses. "Do you need some help?"

"No! Shut up, you bloody wanker!"

"... Okay, so you do need help."

"I said no!"

Alfred chuckled and stepped into the attic, curiously looking around before he went over to the Englishman and helped him lift the portrait.

"Woah, what is this", he asked, surprised when he felt just how heavy it was. "Is this really just a portrait?"

Arthur rolled his eyes at the comment and muttered something that sounded like "idiot" under his breath before moving to the door.

"Old portrait", he grunted and manoeuvred the heavy painting out the door and down the stair. "And stop trying to move the cloth; I'm not letting you see it!"

Alfred took on his best (not to mention cutest) pout, and looked Arthur right in the eye; or at least he tried. Arthur kept looking away. And as the nosy brat he was, Alfred decided to have a look at the portrait sooner or later. One could not tell him that they didn't want him to look at something without having him attempting to do so.

Two hours of cleaning passed, and Arthur decided that it was time for a break. As soon as he offered to make some tea for Alfred as well, the American took his chance and accepted the offer.

"I'll be there in a moment", he said with a smile. "You said you wanted these boxes stacked, so I'll take care of that first."

Reluctantly, the Englishman went to the kitchen; he didn't want to leave Alfred with all those things. After all, the oaf might break something. But said oaf had also accepted the offer for a cup of tea (which was unusual), so as the (albeit unwilling) host, he'd have to do it anyway. And as soon as he heard Arthur start in the kitchen, Alfred walked over to the heavy portrait and grabbed the cloth. The first thing he saw when he pulled it off was the beautiful golden frame, richly decorated. The second thing he noticed was that the sea was featured in this painting, waves bashing against a mighty ship. And just as the cloth hit the floor, he found himself staring at the man who stood there on the ship's rail. The man was dressed in a long red coat with black and golden cuffs, a white shirt, a pair of brown cloth-pants and a pair of sturdy leather boots. On his head rested what seemed to be a leather hat with several large feathers that flowed in the wind like a mane. But it was not the clothing or the ship that surprised him. It was _who_ the man was. Blonde hair, green eyes... And those unmistakeable eyebrows. But the smirk was very uncharacteristic for the familiar man. It was cold and unyielding, something that Alfred had never seen before.

"Iggy", he whispered and stared at the portrait. "What the hell... Iggy?"

He wasn't certain about how long he had been staring at the portrait, but suddenly he heard a crash behind him. He turned slowly, blinking as he saw Arthur stand there. The teacups had shattered on the floor, but it didn't look like the Englishman was bothered by that (or the tea that now penetrated the carpet). Instead, he glared at Alfred in a way that would have made even Ivan wish that he was in another part of the world. In short, it was a very furious Arthur who now walked over to Alfred, grabbed the cloth on the floor and covered the painting.

"Out", he growled. "Get out."

The American didn't move. He kept glancing at the portrait, and then looked back at the older man with a curious glint in his eyes.

"This is from when you were a pirate, am I right", he asked quietly. "I didn't know you had a portrait..." He got no answer, but Arthur did not look at him anymore. "Why have you kept that hidden up there? I mean, this portrait is awesome!" He flashed his trademark grin. "You should put it up, you know, some place where everyone can see it! Like... I know! By the stairs, it would look absolutely awesome!"

"Do you listen to yourself when you speak?" Arthur spat the words out, venom lacing every syllable. "Do you even consider that I might not _want_ anyone to see that out of personal reasons? I don't _want_ to hang it on the wall again, and I kept it covered because I didn't want to see it myself! Are you so dense that you cannot even imagine that there might be something known to everyone else as _emotions_ behind this?!"

Alfred blinked and stared; he had of course expected that Arthur would yell at him... The problem was that the Englishman _wasn't_ yelling. He was speaking in a completely normal volume, but the force behind every word did indicate that while he didn't want to yell, he was angry and possibly hurt.

"Arthur..." Wow... Alfred couldn't even remember last time he had felt so small. "Why wouldn't you want to see it...? Why does a portrait of you mean that much...?"

It took about two minutes for Arthur to grab Alfred, drag him to the hall, force him to put on his damn jacket and then push him out. And Alfred only stared as the door slammed.

But then again, a hero wouldn't let a stupid _portrait_ continue to be a mystery and hurt someone he cared for. Definitely not. So, as the hero he imagined himself to be, Alfred F. Jones decided to poke around a bit in Mr. Arthur Kirkland's past. And he needed to get a hold of the people who had known him best during his pirate period.

* * *

"_Mon ami_, while I am pleased that you would unexpected show up on _my_ doorstep, I must ask what the reason behind this visit is."

Francis was a very gracious host, and Alfred thought to himself for a moment that surely the "frog" (as Arthur liked to call him) didn't deserve all the spite he got. But then again, the man was a pervert among perverts, so it was best to stay on guard.

"It's about Arthur", he said slowly as he sat down on a chair, watching as Francis poured himself a glass of red wine. "I was visiting him about... two days ago, and I helped him clean up in the attic a little bit..."

Francis laughed and sat down, peering at the young man with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

"Ooh", he cooed. "How sweet of you. Ah, _amour_..." He grinned at the look he got. "Alright. What happened when you visited our dear _Angleterre_?"

Searching for the words, Alfred began to tell Francis about the painting he had seen, and about Arthur's reaction. As soon as he mentioned the portrait itself, the grin on the Frenchman's face began to falter and fade. And as he continued on with telling the man about what the Brit had said, it looked like a shadow settled itself in Francis's eyes. The man was quiet all the time; not a single interruption. But it was easy to see that he felt a bit disturbed.

"It is difficult to explain, _mon ami_", he muttered. "You said that Arthur was upset because you had seen the painting..." He looked into Alfred's eyes for a moment. "He said he kept it covered because he did not wish to see it. Perhaps he was upset because you removed the cloth so that he could see it, _non_?" He looked away again with a sigh. "I know which portrait it is", he added after a short while. "He was very proud of it when it was made... True, the man who painted it was not a real painter, but he was skilled. And he was a very close friend of Arthur's during that time." He noticed the curious look in the younger nation's eyes, and then quickly shook his head. "No, I should not say more. If he won't tell you, then I won't say it either. But I shall warn you, at least. Be careful when you look into his past, boy. He might be a nostalgic man, and sometimes he might appreciate that someone wants to know more about it. But, he does not like it when you try to find something out about things he does not like to remember."

* * *

Alfred muttered to himself, feeling annoyed about that Francis had refused to tell him anything else. So the painter had been a close friend of Arthur's; why did that matter? And he didn't need that warning, of course. It was completely unnecessary! Besides, who would've thought that the Frenchman would've held enough respect for Arthur's privacy to refuse to explain something? The men never got along, they were always arguing about something or other, and they always took the chances they got to stab at their past.

"It can't be that serious", he muttered as he returned to his own home. "Honestly, I've never seen Arthur react like this when he speaks of that period... It's a _portrait_, goddammit! It's not like it's a love letter!"

He continued to rant to himself, making the alien Tony peek around the corner for a moment before muttering "fucking limey bastard did something" and "jetlag" and then he disappeared again. Alfred sat down on the couch and leaned back with a pout. It was unfair! He didn't normally ask about Arthur's past (okay, maybe he did, but not about this period), so why were both Arthur and Francis so adamant on not letting him know anything? If he didn't get to know, how was he supposed to tread lightly around that subject? Despite what everyone thought, he was well aware of his unfortunate skills in putting his foot in his mouth and moving about as carefully as a bulldozer when it came to people's personal life... But he couldn't help it! His body reacted faster than he could think, for some reason, and when he managed to stop himself, the damage was already done. If he was supposed to treat this gingerly, then he'd need to know _why_.

"Who else knew him back then", he mumbled. "France was the first one I could think of... Wait..." He blinked, and within a second his usual grin was back. "Spain! Why didn't I think of that?! He _must_ know something about this!"

He rummaged through his pocket and picked up his cell phone.

"Let's see... I should remember Antonio's number..."

He dialled the number as fast as he could, eager to see if Antonio knew anything about this little affair. And luckily, it didn't take long before someone picked up and a familiar voice said "Antonio speaking".

"Hey, it's Alfred!" Alfred smiled, almost as a reflex. "How are things?"

"Uhm... Well, they're good, I guess..." The Spaniard sounded a bit hesitant. "... Why exactly are you calling? You don't call unless there's something specific you want..."

The American hesitated, not certain about how he should explain all this. Saying "What do you know about Iggy's crew from his pirate days" would most likely turn the poor man into a sobbing pile on the floor, bemoaning his Armada. But soon, he settled for the same explanation he had given Francis. And when he was done, he was met with silence.

"Are you still there, Antonio...?"

For a moment, the silence remained. But then, a low sigh rasped through the phone.

"You said you had talked to France", said Antonio. "And he said that he knew about the portrait, and all that. And that the person who painted it was very close to England." The Spaniard sounded surprisingly relaxed. "America, this is difficult... I know how he would react if I said something and he found out... But I suppose that I ought to take that risk. I mean, it _was_ long ago..."

Alfred listened curiously. Finally, he would learn something useful...

"Arthur was fairly close to pretty much all of his crewmembers", Antonio explained. "Especially two of them. One was the First Mate, Jack. They had known each other for some time, and there couldn't be a better man at that position. But there was this guy who had joined them at some point... Arthur captured me once, and well... That man was by his side all the time, even during the short interrogation... I was there long enough to learn that it was a talented man, and fairly kind-hearted... They used to keep me tied to the mast, you see, instead of down in the brig, so I saw a great deal of how they acted around each other... This man, he had a talent for drawing and painting. He used to draw charcoal portraits of Arthur, and of the ship." Alfred frowned slightly, but did not interrupt. "To tell the truth, he was the most loyal man in the crew, except for Jack. And I think Arthur liked him. At least he never tried to tell the man to stop following him around."

"Wait a moment", said Alfred suddenly. "You don't know his name?"

"_Qué_...? Ah, no, I never heard it... But I don't think it was his real name, I think they gave him a new one, an English name. So that it'd look like he'd been in the crew all along. Uhm... I don't know much more, actually, more than that this man painted the portrait you mentioned. I saw when he started to work on it. But well, the man died when they returned to shore. That's all I know, Arthur refused to say more..."

Alfred asked a few more questions, but it seemed that Antonio really didn't know much more. With a quiet sigh, he said goodbye and hung up. So Arthur had been close to this man. Very close, apparently.

"Only one thing to do", he murmured to himself. "Go to Arthur tomorrow and try to make him explain..."

* * *

As soon as he could the following day, he hurried off. He wanted some sort of an explanation, and hopefully Arthur would admit that what Alfred had found out was nothing but pure facts. Of course, it took a while to get there even with the jet, but at least he did get there. And although getting a cab was a living hell (honestly, it was purely ridiculous), he finally got to Arthur's house. It was already late when he arrived, but he quickly opened the black iron gate and hurried up to the house. And banged on the door. But no one came to open. He tried everything that usually got Arthur's attention, but nothing. After a while, he simply tried the doorknob and found that the door was unlocked.

"... Iggy?" He was surprised to find that his voice was so quiet. "Iggy, are you in here?"

Slowly, he moved through the house. All the lights were off on the bottom floor, and there was a deathly silence hovering in all the rooms. With a slight frown, Alfred began to move upstairs. It was dark up there as well; the curtains were closed for some reason.

"Iggy", he tried again. This time, he did get a form of response.

A sob.

He blinked in surprise, seeing that the door to Arthur's bedroom was open. Dark in there too, naturally. But he pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

"Iggy, are you here...?"

Yet another sob, but louder this time. Yep, he was there. But just as Alfred moved to turn on the light, he heard Arthur's voice from the bed.

"Don't. Please, don't. J-just leave it like this."

When he squinted, the American could make out a dark shape on the bed, most likely Arthur with the covers over his head.

"Arthur, are you okay...?"

"Just leave me alone, Alfred, please..."

Naturally, since he had gone through so much trouble, Alfred bristled at this.

"No way", he said. "I came all the way here because I wanted to talk to you, so I'm not going now." He turned on the light, blinking when he saw how Arthur seemed to curl up. "... You're really crying, aren't you", he added quietly and walked over to the bed, carefully lifting the covers a bit. "Come on, Arthur..."

Tear-filled emerald eyes peered up at him. A crying Iggy could be taken in different ways. One, he was drunk. Two, he was angry. Three, someone had hurt him badly. Or four, he remembered something painful. And at the moment, it seemed like it was number four.

"Look", said Alfred gently as he managed to make Arthur sit up. "I'll go downstairs and make you some tea. So just dry your tears, and then come and keep me company, and tell me what's wrong..."

For a moment, he thought that Arthur would ask him to go away again, but the Englishman nodded and bit back another sob. It seemed that he was inclined to explain what was going on.

A while later, they both sat in the lounge; Arthur sat in the sofa and clutched a cup of tea in his hands, and Alfred sat leaned back in a chair and watched him. He wouldn't press Arthur this time; there was always a chance that he'd start to cry again. Soon, Arthur looked up at him.

"I'm sorry", he mumbled. "I'm sorry you had to see that... I wasn't... myself."

Alfred frowned.

"No, you weren't", he replied. "But so what? You were crying, that's nothing to be sorry about."

The Englishman looked down at his tea again, a vague smile playing on his lips.

"I'm just stupid", he said weakly. "I'm just stupid old England."

"Since when are you stupid?" Alfred raised an eyebrow at the other man's words. "But tell me now, what was that about?"

There was a moment of silence, and Arthur did not even move. But then, he sighed deeply and leaned back.

"It's..." He frowned a little. "It's about that painting you saw... Uhm..." He sighed and sipped his tea. "I said that it's... well... It means much to me, and it brings back memories..."

Alfred leaned forward a bit and eyed him carefully.

"I shouldn't have snapped like that..." Arthur sounded truly regretful. "I just... I hadn't seen it for so long, and I was... sad... angry... I don't know. I didn't want to remember him..."

The American didn't say anything. In a different situation, he might've laughed at his old protector; but it had been long since he saw the man act like this. Arthur was, despite everything, a very emotional man, but he rarely showed this part of himself. It was simply undignified, unbecoming of a gentleman. Suddenly, Arthur smiled again and looked straight at Alfred.

"He had a very kind face", he said with a weak chuckle. "Much like yours, actually... same eyes, same hair... And he smiled much like you do..." Alfred blinked and opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself when the Englishman continued. "You even share a name... Everything about you is so similar; I'd almost think you were Alfred's ghost..."

Blue eyes widened; what had Arthur just said?

"He and I were very close", Arthur continued, apparently not taking any notice of the American's surprise. "He meant so much to me... And yet, everything went so wrong..." He sighed quietly. "He betrayed me, you know... And in the end, he faced the gallows for crimes he had committed while he was a part of my crew... He even called out my name before they pulled the lever..."

Alfred frowned and moved over to the sofa, gently putting an arm around the now shaking Englishman. He took the teacup from Arthur's hands and placed it on the small table; there was an outburst on the way, he was sure of it.

"He claimed that he loved me..." Arthur laughed bitterly, new tears seeking their way from his eyes. "He kept telling me that... And I believed him, as the bloody fool I was. He betrayed me, betrayed _me_, his own captain and _lover_!" The voice found new strength and slowly got louder. "He _betrayed_ me, betrayed _England_! And I _still_ wish he was here! I'm such a fool, such a bloody fool! I even _named_ someone after him!"

Strong arms wrapped around Arthur's waist as he tried to stand up, and he was pulled down into Alfred's lap. For a moment, the shorter nation attempted to make his former ward let go, but Alfred held him gently but firmly and would not allow him to get up.

"Please, Arthur", he whispered. "Please, calm down. I'm here. I'm here, and I'm not that man. I have the same name, and maybe I look like him, but so what? There must be thousands of people named Alfred, and probably even more who look like this." He made the Englishman lean against his chest. "It's alright to cry, you know..."

"Let go of me, you idiot!" Arthur squirmed again, but he didn't seem to have any real intention of running off if Alfred were to let go.

"I'm not letting go", replied the American softly. "You already know that it's alright."

He felt how the Brit slowly began to relax. Suddenly, Arthur squirmed out of his grasp, turned and straddled him, and leaned his head on the younger nation's shoulder. Sobs made the man's body shake, but Alfred merely held him close and whispered soothing words to him. And after a while (which felt almost like an eternity), Arthur slowly straightened up again and looked into Alfred's blue eyes.

"I'm sorry", he mumbled and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry..."

Alfred smiled gently.

"It's not bad to cry", he said with a chuckle, but stopped himself as the older man leaned closer.

"It's not because I cried..." Arthur smiled faintly at him. "It's because of what I'm about to do."

Of course Alfred had gotten kissed before. However, all those kisses had been very much expected and predictable. And they had _not_ been given by a certain Englishman, who had now proceeded with kissing the living daylights out of him. Although he did try, Alfred realised fairly quickly that Arthur was in a better position right now, and he was also far more experienced, and now he was doing something absolutely amazing with his tongue, and _oh God, if he stopped now_...

Arthur broke the kiss and moved back a little bit, a shadow of the same smirk he had on the painting showing on his face.

"Looks like there's still something I never taught you", he whispered and trailed one hand over Alfred's cheek. "Though I did think you would figure out how to kiss someone properly on your own... Do you really need my help with this?"

Alfred couldn't help but smile.

"Looks like it, _captain_", he replied. "I would appreciate your help..."

Arthur chuckled and got off the sofa (and Alfred), standing tall and proud in front of him.

"Not here", he said. "Let's go somewhere more... comfortable."

And with that, he grabbed the younger nation's hand and began to drag him towards the stairs. They had barely even gotten into the bedroom when Arthur spun around, pulled Alfred close and began to kiss him again, eagerly and passionately, and Alfred did his best to respond in a satisfactory way. But soon, he was pushed towards the bed and forced to sit down.

"Ye're s'posed t' obey yer captain, lad."

Alfred stared at the older nation, who now had a full-fledged pirate smirk on his lips. When, _when_ had Arthur's voice ever sounded like this before? Husky, filled with lust and a seething need. And the way he spoke... Alfred was certain that any woman (or man, for that matter) would've fallen for him based on his voice and words alone back when he was a pirate.

"Aye, captain", he whispered, smiling as Arthur tilted his head upwards and kissed his cheek. "I'll obey whatever order you give..."

He felt that smirk against his skin as the Englishman moved down a little and planted a trail of kisses along his neck. Arthur began to unbutton Alfred's shirt, moving faster than the American expected. Soon, those hands moved over his chest, gently caressing his exposed skin. And in a moment, Alfred was on his back with Arthur planting kisses over his neck and chest while the clothes they wore were shed as quickly as they dared. They both wanted, no, they both _needed_ this. Alfred's breath caught in his throat as Arthur, still trailing kisses over his skin, moved even further down.

"A-Arthur", he gasped. "Y-you don't have to..."

The green-eyed nation smirked up at him.

"_Captain_", he corrected. "And I want to. So shut up, ye sod. B'sides, I bet those girls ye've been with would never do this."

And so he proceeded, and amidst all his moaning, America admitted to himself that those girls would never have done this. And if they had ever tried, they could never have managed to make him _beg_ for more.

"What an eager lad..." Arthur began to move back up to Alfred's lips instead. "Perhaps ye should show yer captain what ye know, eh?"

Alfred stared at him for a moment before pulling Arthur into a passionate kiss.

"Aye, captain..." He smiled into the kiss, noticing that Arthur did the same.

* * *

Alfred groaned when he opened his eyes and then quickly closed them again. The warmth that should have been next to him was gone, and the curtains were open; sunlight flowed into the room. Just as he sat up and looked around to see if he could find his clothes, he heard a voice from the doorway.

"Oh no, you're not going anywhere, Alfred F. Jones."

He blinked and looked at the man standing there with a tray in his hands. Arthur smiled at him and stepped over to the bed.

"It's just some coffee and tea if you'd like some... I reckoned that a real breakfast could wait a little."

With a smooth movement, he put down the tray on the nightstand. Alfred merely followed his movements with a slight smile. And as soon as the tray left his hands, Arthur got pulled down on the bed.

"Aw, Iggy is so thoughtful!" Alfred laughed at Arthur's flustered face and hugged him. "And here I almost thought you didn't think of me at all!"

Emerald eyes locked with the American's sky blue ones.

"What's past is past", said Arthur with a smile. "And out of all those thousands of people named Alfred, I think there's only one who I know and love."

Alfred laughed again.

"You're corny, _captain_", he grinned.

"I'll have you know that the Seven Seas were mine, you git."

"I know. And I hope you'll show me how Captain Arthur Kirkland handles disrespectful prisoners again~!"

* * *

**:P If you have the time, please do review!**


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